Twelve-hour days...

I've now spent two of the last three school days at school for 12 hours, and I'll be doing it yet again tomorrow. Why? One word: conferences.

I don't mind them, really. Except toward the end where I start to feel lightheaded (seriously. This has happened to me both days now). And the part where my brain starts to turn to mush. And tonight I made the mistake of wearing a woolish cableknit sweater from Gap's Christmas collection a couple years ago... which means that I probably convinced my students' parents by the end of their conferences that I must've rolled in poison ivy just prior to their arrival. Live and learn, I guess.

Anyway, this post isn't about conferences, really. All I wanted to share was something glorious one of my kiddos shared this morning.

I called his name and asked if he'd like to share anything with our class today. He proudly made his way to the front of my room and when he got up front there, he shoved his little hand into his right pocket and dug down deep. His hand emerged, little pieces of fabric sticking out from between his chubby baby fingers, as he boldly declared, "this is my tag collection". A toothy grin spread across his plump red face, so obviously pleased with himself, as he spread out a vast array of tags. Yes, tags. From the inside of his t-shirts. Black tags, white tags, big tags, little tags. Even one tag he'd just cut off this morning! "I've been collecting them a long, long time," he explained. "And when I feel sad or nervous, I just pull one out and rub it in between my fingers and it's like a cure."

I flash him my great big teacher grin and use my best teacher voice to commend his "fantastic" collection and thank him for sharing. In reality, he probably never thought of them as a collection until I called his name to share. He probably just shoved 'em in his pocket this morning before leaving school in order to have something extra to play with. After all, this is the kiddo of mine who spends probably five dollars a week on erasers from the quarter machine in the hallway before school. Which would be fine and dandy, except he then proceeds to stick them in his mouth and chew on them rather than erasing with them or even making a neat little collection or eraser house out of them (a common activity in third grade, by the by). The worst part for him (or maybe his parents, whose five dollars he's spending...) is that the moment I notice him chewing on something, I walk over and make him spit it out in my hand. Yes, I do get a nice pool of spit in my hand when I do that. And yes, it is gross. But gross is kind of my life in third grade. You don't even want to know how many fingers up noses I see each day.

Oh, and I earned a new teacher badge today! What for? My worst fear came true! Well, almost. I survived my first puker! Yes, indeed. Except I was standing by the door of my classroom, ready to give hugs and high-five goodbyes to my busers when I heard what sounded like someone spilling water all over the floor. Only it wasn't water. Anyway, lucky for me, pukey was standing toward the front of my room and there were desks (and a circle of third grade gawkers) to shield my eyes from what probably would have triggered my own barf reflex. So I'm still waiting for my real first close encounter, but this was certainly close enough.

Sidenote: the most horrific memory of puking I have happened when I was in second or third grade myself. The setting: our all-school Christmas concert. The who: Chris VanVulkenberg. Yes, that was his real name; we called him "VulkenVader" -- why? Lord knows. Anyway, nearing the third verse of some Christmas tune, he decided to add his own personal gift -- right down the back and into the shoes of the person in front of him. Oofsch. Thank goodness my music teacher didn't stick me in that spot. Yeesh. Anyway.

By the by: janitors deserve a medal. Mine was in my room within minutes and cleaned it up before any of the rancid fumes aerated the room my conferences would be held in.

All-in-all, regardless of the length of the day, my itchy sweater and the puking child... today was a fantastic day. My first day without standardized testing in practically a whole week. Hallelujah!

Have I mentioned yet how much I love my job? Well, I love my job! Like, way more than I thought possible. Eek!